Well Shaken
by DereksGirl
Summary: If there's one thing Derek's good for . . . It's shaking things up!
1. Prologue

**Well Shaken**

**-Prologue-**

Derek bounded down the staircase in his usual manner, his hair flopping atop his head. Edwin and Lizzie were sitting on the couch engrossed in their Saturday morning cartoons, Marti playing Tea Party with Sir Monks-a-Lot on the floor in front of them. He glanced at them quickly; making sure no one noticed him creeping over to his father. George was sitting in his usual spot at the dining table going over some financial documents for a new case.

"Hey, Dad," he adjusted his wristband. "Can we . . . talk? In private?" he looked at his father through his bangs, lowering his voice so as not to provoke the other children.

George looked at his son warily. Usually, whenever Derek came to him like this it meant something terrible had been done and was looking to his father to clean it up.

"Why, Derek? What'd you do this time? Does it involve the police, because I really can't sta - ," he was cut off by the look his son was giving him.

"No, dad, it doesn't involve the police; it's nothing like that. I just . . . I just need to talk to you. Alone." He glanced behind himself to make sure the others hadn't been disturbed. When he looked back to his father, George nodded warily.

"Alright. How 'bout in the kitchen? Nora's gone shopping so she won't come up and disturb us."

Derek nodded slightly,"Yeah, sure. That's fine."

Truth be told, seeing his son so nervous was making George nervous, which, in-turn, made Derek more nervous. They moved into the kitchen and sat at the island, Derek continuously adjusting and readjusting his wristband. Derek sat with his back to the doors, after shutting and locking them, of course.

His father ran a nervous hand through his hair and took a big breath in, then out.

"Alright, Derek. So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Derek pulled at non-existent lint on his jeans. This was gonna be rough.

"Well, Dad, um . . .well, you know how . . . you . . . always say that whenever I, um, kinda, _go there _ with a girl, I should let you know. So you know I'm . . _. active_?" his father nodded.

"Yeah . . ."

"Well, uh, yeah . . . We're kinda . . . there." He glanced away, then back, "Now." Derek put his hands up before his dad could respond. "And, I know you wanted me to wait, at least until I was eighteen, but, it just sorta . . . happened."

"Well, I . . . assume, you were safe?"

Derek cringed a little at his father's generic response. "Well, yeah, Dad. I may be a slacker, but I'm not an idiot."

George heaved a sigh of relief and smirked a little at his son's response. "So, do I, uh, know this lucky girl?"

The boy gave a reluctant, nervous smile. "Uh, yeah, yeah, actually. She's, uh, someone you'd really approve of. In fact, you, uh, know her pretty well already . . ."

Eyes wide, his father started guessing. "Is it Sally? She seemed–" A shake of the head from his son.

"Its not Kendra is it? You two broke up months ago–" Another shake.

"Emily?" A chuckle and another shaken head.

"Well, Derek, you gotta help me out here. I don't really know any–" cut off again, but this time, by a knock at the kitchen doors.

"Hello? Derek? George? Is anybody in there?" It was Casey. "The kids said you went in there. Look, I just need to get a dr–"

George watched his son as he stared at the doors, then turned back toward him, eyes wide, avoiding eye contact. Realization hit like a sledge hammer to the back of the head.

"Derek, I'm going to ask you this once, and I want the truth. Is it Casey?"

A pause. Then, a wide-eyed, slow nod as he readjusted his wristband yet again.

". . . Yeah."

A/N: Okay, this is my first time writing anything for LWD, never mind anything NOT for 1xR - Gundam Wing. Which is on hiatus, but will be back soon. Anywho, let me know what you think so far, good, bad, or extremely ugly . . . I wanna hear it. Just try to make it constructive. I won't continue if no one like it/reviews. I'm asking at least 10, hopefully 15 by this time next week. Lemme know, yo!


	2. Off Duty

Casey knew she shouldn't try to talk to him

Casey knew she shouldn't try to talk to him. She knew he'd just give her some snarky remark, and then slam the door in her face, most likely. Still . . . something in the way he'd spoken to her earlier had made her think that maybe . . . maybe he would be able to console her this one time.

Stepping up to his door, she wiped her face clean of tears and wrapped lightly. Uh-oh. This wasn't good; she heard voices from the other side of the door – one male . . . one female. Yikes! She knew this wasn't a good idea; how stupid could she have been! Derek never stays home on a Friday night, and when he does, it's always with someone else. Just as her brain kicked in and told her feet to get stepping back to her room, the door in front of her opened up. Derek stood there in all his disheveled glory, one hand on the door knob, his forearm on the frame, looking expectantly at her. As much as she tried to form a full sentence that could explain her disturbance of him and his guest, Casey just couldn't seem to do it. After a while, Derek took in her clearly-distressed-but-trying-to-appear-fine appearance; he motioned for her to wait and he disappeared behind his door.

Within a moment he was back at the door, Sally coming to stand in the hall near Casey.

"So . . . I guess, I'll . . . see you at work on Monday, then?" The blonde questioned, trying to hide the confusion in her voice.

"Uh, yeah. I'll . . . see you later, Sal," scratching the back of his head, he answered. Casey watched the girl leave, feeling guilty for being the one to break the two coworkers up. Come to think of it though, Casey was a little surprised; she hadn't known Sally and Derek were in that kind of relationship. Last she'd heard, Derek was over the girl, and Sally'd gotten back with her old boyfriend. When she turned back around, Casey was surprised to see Derek had already walked back into his room and was waiting expectantly on his bed, his right foot propped on the edge, lying back on his elbows, as if to say _'Well, are you coming in, or what?'_. She took a tentative step forward into the room, pushing her disheveled hair behind her ears.

"Derek, um, do you think . . . do you think I could talk to you for a minute? I-it's kinda–"

"Yeah, sure. Come. Sit." He cut her off, patting the typically rumpled bed to his left.

To say she was surprised would be an understatement. First – obligation or not – her devious step-brother helps her regain her identity, then, in the same day, he kicks a girl out of his room on a Friday night, and tops it off with inviting her in to sit on his bed to have what was shaping up to be a very emotional, feeling-filled conversation. He was really taking this whole "Sensitive Derek" thing all the way, wasn't he? Well, if he was, she might as well milk it for all it was worth, Casey reasoned. After all, the bet would be over tomorrow.

So she sat.

On his bed.

Next to him.

In her sweats and a tank top.

At eleven-forty-five at night.

Glancing over to her right she gave him a sorrowful look. "Derek, listen, I didn't mean for you to kick Sally out, I just didn't know who to–" Derek cut her off with a look and a flippant waive.

"Don't worry about it, Space-Case, really. We were just going over next week's schedule." Casey gave him a skeptical look. "Really. I wanted to switch some of my hours with hers so I could go to this party tomorrow." Another, yet slightly less, skeptical look. "Really, okay! Now, what did you and your puffy, red eyes need to talk about?" He watched with humor as she gasped and a hand flew to her under-eyes, a look of horror on her pretty features. Yeah, she may be his polar opposite, and a serious snag in his _'cool' _rep, but he wasn't blind; or an idiot, for that matter. He could she what she had to offer, and, truth be told, if she'd never become part of his extended family, he probably would've tried his luck with her. Then again, having that marital link and being forced to share living quarters had allowed them both to see other sides to each other, which, most likely, wouldn't have ever been shown otherwise. As time progressed, he'd allowed her to see more of his sensitive, caring, vulnerable side. The side previously reserved only for Marti. Even now, though, watching her glance around his room for – he assumed – a mirror, he couldn't say he wasn't attracted to her. But she was off limits, and off the market. She was attached. And, even though he knew that tool, Max, couldn't see what she was worth, he couldn't interfere.

Giving up her quest to find a reflective device with which to fix her appearance, Casey decided she should probably just get to what she came there for. Heaving a large, shaky sigh she allowed herself to fall back onto his bed.

"Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I broke up with Max."

She thought? How was she unsure about something like that?

"You _think_? How are you unsure about that?"

"W-well . . .," she stuttered, "I-I told him I needed some time, to figure out _me_, and where I'd gone, and . . . and, and it's your fault!" He jumped a little. _Him?_ How was this his fault?!

"Me?! How is this on _me_?"

"Well, you're the one that talked me into going back to the old Casey–"

"And you can't do _that_ and date Max at the same time?"

"Well, _no!_ Hence, the _breaking up_ with him!"

"But why not?!"

"'Cause he's the whole reason the 'Old Casey' changed in the first place!"

"Why?"

"I-I don–"

"Why!"

"Because I wasn't good enough for him, okay! Because I was never good enough . . ."

Derek felt like he'd just gotten the wind knocked out of him. How could she think something like that? More so, didn't she know that for other people to like you, you had to like yourself? God, now she was crying . . . Shit. Lying there on her side, in her rolled down sweats – just the tiniest bit of hip showing, letting her hair fall over her face to hide her tears he couldn't help but be empathetic. Lord help him . . .

He slipped a tentative, shaky hand under the curtain of hair, tucking some behind her left ear. He kept his eyes open up until the moment his lips grazed her temple.

'_Case . . .'_

Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard a meek gasp, but he hopped off the bed before she could say anything. He pulled the covers back on his bed and readjusted his pillows so there were two spots, instead of one. Casey took the hint and moved to the edge of his bed. Derek took a light hold on her hand and stood her up, moving to the turned down side. She crawled over to the far side and laid down, gripping his pillow with her long fingers, looking up at him through her hair. When he laid the duvet over her gently, but made no move to lie down himself, she questioned him.

" . . . Derek?" her voice was still hoarse from crying.

Smirking a little, he pulled at his shirt. "I, uh, smell a _little_ like Pablo, so I was thinking I should _probably _take a shower before bed . . ."

The brunette smiled at how, even at such an awkward moment, the boy in front of her could loosen things up with that oddball humor of his.

"Okay," she smiled.

"Alright," he smiled back.

Yawning behind her hand, Casey watched as he stumbled across his floor, pulling some clean pajamas out on his way to the door. Stopping just before he closed the door, he leaned back in to look at her.

"Oh, and, Case . . .?"

"Yeah?"

"Just so you know, 'Sensitive Derek' quit a few hours ago." He smirked and winked at her, before closing the door.


End file.
